The bearded autocrat hesitated, eyeing this strange figure with the "officer's swank," as he called it afterwards.
"I advise you to hurry," said Dick, his eyes opening a little wider.
The autocrat took the advice, and returned with another.
Dick was standing with his hand on the door of the compartment with one traveller—the remaining motor-cyclist.
"Look here, station-master," he said, beginning before the man could open his mouth; "I don't want to leave you with a nasty job like this on your hands, without telling you what I know. I am Major Richard Bellamy of the R.A.F. Never mind my clothes. Take it I've been celebrating. At Harthborough I got into the next compartment with a lady, and a man I have befriended. I am looking after him. He'll be all right to-morrow. Just as we left—the train had actually started—two fellows in overalls jumped into this compartment. Half-way between this and Harthborough we heard a row going on—the lady and I. It got worse and worse, and I looked out of the window just in time to see one of the pair fall out backwards."
Here Dick looked at his watch.
"Twelve minutes ago, it was. I took the time then. He hit the grass bank and rolled. Shouldn't wonder if he's all right. Probably alive, anyhow."
"Why didn't you pull the communication cord?" asked the station-master, pompously stern.
Now Dick had forgotten the communication cord. But it would have been impossible for him to forget a few things he had once learned about railways.
He glanced at the guard, and found uneasiness in his eye.